Could Be

I’ve had dates, since the divorce.

I’ve had relationships since the divorce.

I’ve had men come into (or come back into) my life, since the divorce; although they always seem to disappear somewhere along the line as well.

I’ve had fun times, since the divorce.

And I’ve had my heart broken…since the divorce.

More than once.

I’ve been left, without a word, without an explanation, without a text, or email, or phone call.


I’ve also had the brush-off, always politely worded, in which he blames himself, states that he’s “damaged”, or “not ready” (not ready for what…I don’t know, since that particular man was the one driving the relationship down the highway at 100 mph.)

I’ve thought to myself, “Well, there’s the one that got away”, when things went sideways.

Always ending up blaming myself for the failure, somehow.  Because what’s the one thing that all these failed relationships have in common?

Yeah, me.

But, maybe…
Just maybe…
It was them.

Maybe I was the one,  willing to be there, willing to risk, willing to love and to be loved. Maybe I was the one saying “Come with me if you want to live.”

And maybe…

Maybe they’re missing what they had with me.
Maybe he knows that he Fucked up when he ghosted me. 
Maybe he feels bad about when he benched me, stringing me along while he played the field.
Maybe he thinks about the time we spent talking on skype, and how he never even had the guts to meet me face-to-face to find out if lightning would strike.
Maybe he misses how I made him laugh, with my jokes & sarcasm.

Maybe one of them is out there, kicking himself, knowing I won’t ever talk to him again, because it hurts too much, so he’ll never have the chance to be with me again.

Maybe, just maybe…

I was the one that got away.




I am Emily Doe

Not literally.  I’ve never attended Stanford,  and I’m not a 20-something woman anymore.  I’ve never met Rapist Brock Turner.

But I know some of what she’s been through.

I haven’t said much here about all the news stories, letters, and commentary I’ve shared on my own social media about this woman’s harrowing journey, but I felt the need tonight.

Because the old anxiety, the depression, the anger & hurt from all those years ago is back once again, in force. (Click on the link if you feel like reading my original post on this)

Because his parents are coming to visit mine, once again, this summer, and that always rakes the coals in my head.

30 years ago, I was molested by my best friend’s brother.  His parents & mine were the best of friends as well. 

I was never really believed by anyone.
He has never, in all these years, apologized.  Even if he did, I wouldn’t have accepted it, nor can I forgive him.

What is even worse? I’ve never had the support of my parents when it came to his guilt & my suffering. 

For 30 years I’ve had this canker in my head, that flares every time I have to think about it.

It has changed how I interact with the opposite sex.
It has changed how I trust, and how I don’t.
It still causes me panic attacks and nightmares when I have to interact with his family, because they always have to bring him into the conversation, somehow.

Maybe they think this year is the year I’ll forgive and let go.


Emily Doe,  wherever you are – I am with you.


After a long wakeful night








I’m not angry.
I’m just tired.
Tired of being “resilient”.
Tired of being “strong” for everyone else.
Tired of people walking away without so much as a backward glance.

Hell, let’s just be honest.
I’m tired of MEN walking away when they get bored, or scared, or whatever their excuse of the day is.
Tired of broken promises, and the people who make them.

Except the Darkness

In the deep dark of night
I feel the weight of sorrows
Pressing down
Breathing hot and horrid
On the back of my neck
I know the loss of ages
All that has passed behind
All who have left
All I have walked from
In the dark of night
I hear the keening
Of my own heart
As it breaks
Into fractured pieces
I shall not weep aloud
For no one listens
Except the darkness

The Thunder of Silence

It’s so quiet in my house today.
The silence broken only by the occasional bark of Rosie & faint birdsong coming from outside.  Even the steady thrum of the refrigerator seems hushed, muted, today.

For I am alone.

And I weep.

My grandmother passed away early this morning.
I knew she wasn’t doing well, Mom told me she had a stroke yesterday, & they’re on their way there.
After they drop EldestDaughter and Schnicklefritz off at the airport.

Because they’ve left too.

Moving to Washington.
Actually,  just taking a vacation for the moment, to get a scope of where they will be moving to in a few weeks.

But they’re still gone.

And I weep.

My grandmother,  gone for all time.
My eldest daughter, gone for now, but only to return for a short period.
My middle daughter,  less than a month from graduating college, and flown, already, from the nest.
My youngest, OnlySon,  off to his father’s for a long weekend, and only a year from graduating into adulthood, himself.

All the old is passing, the new, yet to show itself.

But, for now, I sit in silence and weep.
Slow, silent tears run down my cheeks as I remember, as I imagine, as I grieve.


How do you decide between Quality vs. Quantity?

How do you make a choice so fraught with emotions, that, either way, someone will end up hurting?

How do you say, I’m going to live,  really LIVE for a little while, rather than spend months & years with loved ones…but be in pain, sick & tired?

How do you make this choice?

I don’t know.
I really don’t.

I know/knew 2 people who’ve made this choice. Both choosing Quality over Quantity.

And as much as I can say that I understand, even respect, their choice…

It still hurts.

And I know that it’s not my choice to make.

I hope that I am never faced with this choice…because honestly, I don’t know how I would answer the question.

Do you fight? Do you go down swinging, even if it’s a slow, pain-ridden ride?

Or do you finish out your time in a blaze of glory & adventure,  knowing that every moment could be your last?

How do you choose?


I’m tired.
Tired of pretending that everything’s alright.
Tired of telling people “I’m fine”, or “I’m better”, when it’s a blatant lie.

I’m tired of hurting- every day- and never finding a surcease of the pain. There is no “eye of the storm” for me…there is only the unrelenting wind.

I’m tired of doctors who will not listen, will not actually take the time to give me, one of their so-called “valued” patients, quality care. Instead I’m shuffled like cattle thru the chute, “Poke it with the needle, Bob, & let’s send it back out to pasture! There’s a whole ‘nother corral to treat! What? There’s one telling you it hurts? Cattle don’t talk, Bob, send it on through the chute.”

And the ever-present pain that radiates from my side. Where do I begin with that?
How about the fact that, yes, I thought it was my kidney, as I’ve got a history of troubles & pain with that, & the pain is so similar to what I felt back then. But, the tests they’ve run have shown it’s not that. So, good news, right?
Well, great news, I don’t have to have a permanently enlarged, slow-acting kidney removed.

But then, I ask… where is the pain coming from?

And the doctors look around, shrug, & say “dunno.”

Or, how bout we start with the fact that I’ve told 2 doctors that I’m also experiencing constant pressure & pain in the region of my right ovary…
And yet, neither of them has done a physical “poke & prod” exam, nor have they run any tests on that area. “Cysts? Oh, you don’t look that old…oh, that’s right, you’re 45, hunh, you don’t look 45.”
Aren’t you going to check it?

Or how about that fact that my doctor has prescribed me some pain meds that- sure, make my hands & the arthritis I have there feel great… but it does nothing for the stabbing, grinding pain in my side.

I sleep hard at night, though, because of them.

And yet…
I’m still tired.
I’m exhausted.
Bone – weary of waiting for someone who will hear my sighs and realize that I’m still sitting in the waiting room, still waiting to be heard, to actually be listened to, not just patronized, patted on the head, & sent on my way with some do – little pills & a smile that tells me “it’s all in your head, you hypochondriac,  now go home & suck it up”.

It’s not in my head, it’s in my side, in my abdomen, and it’s only getting worse with time.  Fucking look at it. Fucking hear me. Stop watching the damn clock, stop thinking about the next patient when you’re in the exam room with me.

I’m worn out with yelling, pleading, I’m tired of crying in their offices, because I’m always alone when I have to deal with this. I don’t have anyone to lean on, who’ll believe me & go to back me up, to confront the doctors when they wear me down.
Maybe I should just print this & hand it to the next doctor I see.  Maybe.

Odd Loss

For the past week I’ve been dealing with an odd feeling. A sense of, almost, overwhelming, loss & depression that I can’t really explain well. It pervades my waking moments, & has even interrupted my sleep a couple of times.

It’s the loss of Alan Rickman.


I know, we’ve lost so many idols in just this last week. Bowie, Lemmy from Motorhead, and, just yesterday, Dan Haggerty, who played Grizzly Adams, a much – beloved show from my childhood.

But, for me, those other losses are faint, far away & muted by the fact that 1) I’ve never met them, 2) while they had an impact on my life, it just wasn’t as much as some others.

No, I’ve never met Alan Rickman either.
But, the effect he had on my life was much more profound than even I knew.

I first noticed him in, of course, Die Hard, as the villainous Hans Gruber. With his rich, accented bass voice, he made me find a guilty pleasure in watching him spar verbally with Bruce Willis on screen.


In fact, my favorite lines from that movie are pretty much just him.

Hans:”Schiess dem fenster, ”
Other bad guy: “Hunh?”
Hans: “Schiess dem fenster! ”
Other bad guy: *puzzled look…*

He’s pretty much the reason I watched Die Hard, after that first viewing so long ago. There was something – charismatic- about the way he played that character.

And, since learning of Alan ‘ s death, I’ve been going back to find all my favorite movies of his, rewatching them. And finding new movies I never knew about, and watching those too, simply to witness again the simple brilliance of his acting.

Yes, of course, there’s the Harry Potter series. I haven’t marathoned it yet, but I will tonight, since I don’t have to babysit.

But, in no particular order… here are my personal favorites.

Blow Dry- both Alan Rickman AND Bill Nye? A British haircutting competition? Are you kidding me? Of COURSE.

Sense and Sensibility – He might not have played the heartthrob,  he didn’t even have a major role, but the character he played had depth, heart, & a very quiet core of immovable strength. I’d have chosen him, just like Kate Winslet finally did toward the end.

Galaxy Quest- Brilliant, funny, tongue-in-cheek.  By Grapthar’s hammer, yes.

Love Actually- Yeah, he played a weak-willed, cheating husband in this one…but I still see the redeeming qualities. I’d have taken him back, & I don’t forgive cheaters.

CBGB- I just watched this last night on Netflix. I’d never even heard of it, but when I searched his name to find movies of his, there it was. And it was riveting & funny. Rupert Grint (Ron Weasley ) was in it too, & that was even funnier.

Sweeney Todd- As evil as they come, himself played Judge Turpin in this musical gore – fest with Johnny Depp. And, he was oily, gruesome, cruel, & still compelling. Brilliant. Oh, and yes, he sings!

And, of course, last but nowhere near least…

Harry Potter- Professor Snape. So many things could be said, and it would never fully describe this character. Rickman himself said that he didn’t like talking about or trying to explain HP, because he felt it took away from the individual experience, & he wouldn’t be the person who took the imagination out of it for the kids.

Alan Rickman.
So many more movies I need to see, before I come close to assuaging the sadness I feel at his loss.


I still don’t know why this loss has hit me so hard. It’s confusing, but I’m going to stop analyzing it.


Because I’m going to simply honor his life- by honoring his work.


And, one of these days…It won’t hurt as much as it does right now.


Silent Night

“You’ll be just like the daughter I never had!”

Uncle Harold.

Not a blood-related uncle, but one chosen, loved for his goofy humor, & his staunch defense of a gawky girl with teeth too big for her face.
One of my dad’s best friends, but my chosen “Uncle”.

One of the few allowed to call me by a nickname that had previously been reserved strictly for family who’d known me since birth.

Uncle Harold. The man who let me ride his horses whenever I wanted, who always told me what a beautiful girl I was, when I knew better.  I was an awkward teen, & not very self-secure.

His younger son was my classmate,  his older son was in my brother’s grade.  We herded cattle on horseback together once or twice a year, for many years.

Uncle Harold.
Who passed away from cancer just a couple days ago.
Whose funeral is on Saturday,  and I will be there.

Because I’m the daughter he never had.
Goodbye, Uncle Harold.
I love you.

Midnight Confession

I can’t seem to sleep.
Too many thoughts running through my brain, all at once. Too many things, vying for my attention,  all important,  all beyond my ability to control, right now.

But I think…maybe I figured something out.

One of the reasons they all leave.

I’ve fallen in love many times, with different men, and yet- they all have ended up leaving me.

All except the one I haven’t been able to meet yet.

And, I think the reason is me.

Because I fall in love.

I always seem to. Easily, and completely.

My affections are easily engaged. Someone catches my eye, for whatever reason it might be.

Their sense of humor, their intelligence,  their intensity, their smile, whatever the initial reason is…and I engage.  A light is switched on in the back of my brain, way back in the primitive part of my psyche.  Some instinct tells me that I need to know more, learn more, feel more.

So, I get to know them.

And, when there’s a true spark on my part, I start to care. I want to be there for them, emotionally, physically, all of it.  I want to take care of them, and I want them to care back. 

It’s natural, right? Wanting the reciprocation?

But, some part of them, for whatever reason, sees that need in me, and they think “How can she feel so much for someone so quickly?  She must be flighty, and her feelings can’t be real.  She’ll say the same thing to the next guy that walks past.”

And, they’re gone.
Just like that.

It’s happened too many times to be a coincidence.

One, said that he “just wasn’t ready”, that he never made any promises,  that all the talking had just been…whatever. Maybe, he was reliving the past for a while, pretending we were still kids, & it was just for the sake of nostalgia.

One, said he’d never commit again, then proceeded to date me off & on for about 2 years,  disappearing completely at one point, when it looked as though we might be getting “too serious”, only to show back up later, saying he missed me, but only wanting to be occasional “friends in bed”.

One, showed all the signs of wanting to really be serious, pushing the relationship faster than I was even really ready for, but I went along with it, thinking that maybe, after 20 years and us having been married when we were young, well, hell, maybe this time we had a chance to make it work.  Then, he disappeared without any explanation whatsoever.

And one, told me that, after all the talking, getting to know each other, getting to care about each other,  told me that he couldn’t be in a relationship with anyone, because he saw any close relationship with suspicion, and as a weakness that would hurt him.

All seemingly different reasons…all with the same result.

And the one thing they all had in common?


Me, caring about them.

Me, being alone again in the aftermath.

Me, picking up the pieces by myself, trying to figure out how I could be such a rotten judge of character, how I could consistently pick men with commitment issues, with so much fear.

I trusted.

I lost.

And then, I’d trust again.

My special gift, impossible relationships.

And now, trusting someone that I’ve never met face to face, that I’ve been talking to for 2 1/2 years, waiting, always waiting for him to keep the promises he keeps breaking.

I try to love.
I keep the faith that somewhere, it’s out there.
But, it seems to be that only other people actually get to find and keep it.

And I stand here, outside, looking in the windows, my hands in my pockets as I walk past those happy lives, them completely oblivious to the person outside, envying their joy.

And I walk home.